


I'm Not Here

by torolulu



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-07
Updated: 2012-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-29 03:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torolulu/pseuds/torolulu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mohinder sets out to kill Sylar, but ends up discovering him in a compromising situation with a familiar-looking man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not Here

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a kink meme in 2008

It's not the same heartbeat, but he's learned to control his hearing perfectly by now, increase or decrease the sensitivity at will to filter out inconvenient sounds. His heart is not the part of him in which he's interested anyway. This is perfect.

Because he's licking sweat off the same skin and it's the same hair that he grasps and tugs and runs his fingers through as he watches it bob up and down in his lap. He holds the man's head tightly to prevent him from raising it enough to remind him that it's not the same eyes either.

"Mohinder," he calls him, over and over again.

*

It's three o'clock in the morning and he's outside the motel room to which he's tracked Sylar, hoping that his super hearing isn't active even in sleep, hoping that he is sleeping and not preparing for or returning from a kill.

He knows that he's doing the right thing coming here alone. The Company wouldn't listen to him, to his urgency, to his pleas for the lives that Sylar would take while they "formulated a strategy to appropriately deal with this situation," and he's almost glad for that. He doesn't trust them to do this right.

He tries the door handle, surprised to find it unlocked, and he quietly opens the door a crack. The lights are off. He hears nothing. He pulls out his gun – telekinesis won’t work if Sylar’s asleep and there’s less than a millimetre between the muzzle and his temple – and steps inside.

*

Sylar is in ecstasy.

Mohinder is kneeling, at his feet, between his legs, sucking him off like a whore…

No, not like a whore, he shouldn’t debase him – Mohinder gave up his life, his job, the respect of his friends and family, just to be with Sylar. Because Sylar’s special, he’s so special and so grateful…

( _And if this were really him you’d be listening, listening to his heart and his mouth and his breath…_ )

Or maybe he is Zane Taylor and they are in Montana and Mohinder knocked on his door late at night. Of course Sylar can’t hear his heart, he doesn’t have that power yet – no, not “yet”, he never will, because Mohinder will save him, Sylar will stop for him.

“Mohinder,” he groans and he opens his eyes.

“Mohinder?”

*

Mohinder freezes, just a step inside the room, when he hears Sylar groan his name. He looks toward the source of the sound, sees vaguely human shapes moving almost imperceptibly – his eyes are not yet adjusted to the dark.

And then they are.

He feels so ridiculous that he bursts into laughter at Sylar’s startled inquiry and doesn’t stop until he notices the appearance of the man backing off of Sylar’s dick. In the scant light the differences are muted and Mohinder wonders if this is a power he never knew, if Sylar can create replicas of people or illusions that can touch.

The light switch flicks on without being touched and puts Mohinder’s suspicions to rest. The man resembles him, nothing more.

*

It’s reality crashing in to his fantasy and fantasy entering his reality.

He feels the prostitute’s mouth leave him and considers forcing it back, fucking this man’s mouth and coming while he stares into Mohinder’s eyes and listens to Mohinder’s body. It’s not like he has any dignity to preserve.

Mohinder laughs at him and he considers taking it even further than that. He considers using this man as a vessel for every filthy desire Mohinder has ever inspired in him that he cannot bring himself to enact on the man himself, and making Mohinder watch. Perhaps then he would appreciate the level of restraint that Sylar has shown around him. Perhaps then he would appreciate his mercy.

The moment passes. The man between his legs scurries to his side and stares at Mohinder with big brown eyes and though the fear in them is arousing and reminiscent of another time when Mohinder had a gun drawn, the presence of the real thing is causing his interest in this substitute to wane completely.

“Please don’t kill me,” he begs. Mohinder would never say that.

“Just get dressed and leave,” Mohinder says, and he lowers his gun. “No one’s going to kill anyone tonight.”

The man looks to Sylar, who nods. “I don’t need you anymore,” he says.

*

“What the _fuck_ was that?”

Mohinder doesn’t know if the sight that he just witnessed terrifies, angers, or amuses him. Sylar could only kill him or torture him before – there is an entirely new threat implied here.

“Nothing that you haven’t considered before, I’m sure.”

“Of course. I fantasize regularly about the monster who murdered my father. Nothing gets me hotter.”

“It wouldn’t be so strange. I fantasize regularly about a man who drugged me, tortured me, and shot me in the face.”

They say nothing and stare. Their eyes have not broken contact since they were first left alone.

Sylar stands up and moves toward Mohinder. Mohinder raises his gun, aware of the futility of the gesture but unwilling to appear submissive in Sylar’s presence. Despite the weapon’s harmlessness, Sylar stops moving. He breaks his gaze from Mohinder’s to furrow his brow at the gun. The gun flies to his hand and he regards it for another moment before placing it on a desk.

“Why did you come here, Mohinder?” he asks, and the tone of his voice is uncomfortably familiar.

 _You’ve given me hope_ , Mohinder remembers.

“I came here to kill you in your sleep,” he says.

“Why did you come here _alone_ , Mohinder?”

 _Because I don’t trust anybody else to do it_ , he thinks.

“Because I don’t want anybody else to do it,” is what comes out.

Sylar closes the gap between them and kisses him hard.

Mohinder kisses him back.

*

Sylar couldn’t help himself. Mohinder was right here, the real Mohinder, and he had just confirmed everything Sylar himself had suspected: Mohinder wouldn’t let just anyone kill him; he knew Sylar was too special for that, nobody else deserved that honour. Mohinder wanted him all to himself. He _wanted_ him.

Sylar felt a twinge of remorse at that thought. He’d let someone else touch him, settled for second best, and that offended his sensibilities in more ways than one.

He ends the kiss and presses his ear to Mohinder’s chest, putting his arms around him and pulling him close, just listening. Mohinder looks down at him and strokes his hair once before pulling his hand away quickly. He averts his eyes from Sylar’s. His expression is suddenly more terrified than it’s been since he got here.

*

Sylar reaches up and grabs Mohinder’s face with both hands, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“Mohinder,” he says, but Mohinder cuts him off with his lips and shoves his tongue into his mouth. Sylar returns the kiss eagerly, moaning into Mohinder’s mouth. He slides his hand down Mohinder’s back and grabs his ass, pulling him with him toward the bed. The backs of his knees hit the edge and he moves to sit down, but Mohinder grabs his shoulders and spins them around. He lowers himself onto the bed while putting pressure on Sylar’s shoulders. Sylar obeys the implicit command and sinks to his knees, holding Mohinder’s gaze as he does so. He opens Mohinder’s jeans and takes out his cock.

*

Mohinder averts his eyes again as Sylar grabs his dick but he knows that Sylar’s still staring at him. He sees him out of the corner of his eye, staring at his face while he licks and nuzzles his cock. Mohinder doesn’t look at him until he lowers his mouth onto his dick, and then he raises his hands from his shoulders to his head and grasps his hair firmly to discourage him from looking up.

He’s not with Sylar.

He’s in a motel in Montana with Zane Taylor. He took a chance and knocked on his door in the middle of the night and he’s so glad he did.

No one’s going to kill anyone tonight.


End file.
